Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Memento of the silver light, the dust barrenwhere the sleek newlyweds squat like petrified lava,concealed in the landfill in Staten Island,the nouveau dementia of thick gold and diamonds,no, nothing arrogant but merely saying I have,no, nothing divisive in the black-sequin attire,obvious, like the long walkway up from the street,its stem blossoming at the door with a gold knocker. The seeded garbage has bubbled into a garden,but no mystery in the island where the small businessesspread out like tentacles each morning.A lone gull migrating over an eggcaws in the fumes as the air leaks from its cauldron,a slow dog on the highway who remembers the thunder.

About Me

Writer, poet, ex-editor, loner, disident, ex-theaterist (M.A. in Theatre), ex-college adjunct instructor, father, New Yorker (born and raised in Brooklyn), lives now in duller-than-tofu NJ. My poems have appeared in The Virginia Quarterly Review, Stand (U.K.—6 poems), College English (4 poems), The Literary Review, Prairie Schooner (2), The Minnesota Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Confrontation, Poetry East, The Harvard Advocate (with typo rendering poem a vegetable), Permafrost, Journal of New Jersey Poets, New Collage, Perspective, Ironwood, Grasslimb, South Florida POetry Journal, and in the anthology For a Living—The Poetry of Work (University of Illinois Press). Blogs: stanmarcus.blogspot.com (satirical microessays on everyday confusion), stanmarcus2.blogspot.com (serious poetry), and, blog on a trip I took to China in the 1976. Another blog, called Stan Marcus: Chronicles, deals with (in prose) . . . whatever is on my mind. It's at stanmarcus4.blogspot.com.